Chapter 16
After I ditch Dalton on the living room floor, I run to my room and shower. As I wash up, I feel every mark he left on me, and it funnels guilt into my thoughts. I panicked. I know I did, and I’m not ashamed about it. I told him it’s been a while. I’m sure that fleeing like a scared cat that was spooked by its own shadow isn’t the preferred or expected protocol following a mutual, consensual, and torridly hot night of sex should go.
I’m so unfamiliar with having a fling that I simply went with my instincts for guidance. And my gut instinct happened to be an order to freak out and run.
“I can’t believe I caved.” I groan, resting my forehead on the tiles of the shower wall and let the water cascade down me. Surprisingly, the water pressure is good. Maybe Marian did something to ensure an almost massage-like force to pummel guests. I love it. It helps to invigorate me and rejuvenate me into an alert, rational adult.
Nothing about last night seems rational in the light of the morning. It seems like a fever dream. A wicked dare I was helpless to resist.
It’s neither. I slept with Dalton and it was my choice to do so.
But now what? It’s been so long, I can’t figure out what my next step should be.
“Isn’t that the story of my life,” I mutter quietly.
I’m here because I don’t know where to go or what to do, and by caving to the attraction I tried to hold off and ignore in the hopes it would fizzle out, I’ve complicated the big question mark of my life even more.
My answer is to pretend it never happened. We reconvene in the kitchen where I prepare another PBJ. He’s there, sipping water and looking freshly showered. It’s unfair how damn good he smells: all man with the sharp scent of soap. If he’s waiting for me to speak up first, he’ll be waiting a long while. I remain quiet, determined to act as though we never fell into each other’s arms. As though I didn’t lunge forward and kiss him because I wasn’t strong enough not to. I ran out of reasons why not to, and looking at it that way, I feel like it’s all on me.
No, it’s not. We both wanted it. I may have made the first move, but he had all the moves to see to my pleasure in the best way possible.
He seems to be on the same page, tiptoeing around me in the kitchen, only speaking up to say, “I’m going to head outside and start to clean up.”
Is that an announcement of avoidance? Is he also drinking the Kool-Aid of “if we don’t speak of it, it didn’t happen”? Or is he secretly suggesting I pitch in and help, too, and I’ll be a bum if I don’t join him?
I rub my head after he steps outside. I’m going to give myself a headache if I don’t simmer down on these frantic thoughts.
After I pep talk myself into it, I head out there and pick up sticks. I right the planters and scoop up the shards of pots that fell and cracked. Lauren won’t be pleased about the destruction of her projects. A few smaller trees are snapped, and the work we accomplished in the new orchard is destroyed. Overall, though, it’s cosmetic ruin. Nothing was devastatingly broken, and it takes a good hour picking up sticks and smaller branches to add to the brush pile that will no doubt make a fantastic bonfire one day after it’s dried out.
Will I be here to see it? Fall isn’t far away, and I meant it when I told Dalton I’d like to stick around. But as a helper? I’m not sure I can promise the lure of a career might call me elsewhere. I went into education because I was passionate about it. It feels criminal to throw that away.
Dalton is forever nearby, but we don’t speak. It’s with a mutually agreed-upon but not-spoken understanding that making eye contact is a grievance today, and we only speak when necessary. Like his comment that the cell reception is back up.
“I need to call Hayes and see if he can get a team over to start cutting up and removing the felled trees.”
I glance at the behemoth that would’ve taken the Goldfinch out of business. It’ll take a good crew of hardy men a solid day to erase the evidence of Mother Nature’s wrath with that one.
“If that’s all right with you.”
I turn and give him a sharp look. He clears the smile from his face, and I know he’s joking. It feels like he’s cracking a joke about me, not with me. “What does that mean?”
“Well, he’s got his eye on you.”
So, he’s noticed that too. “So what?”
He shrugs and starts to dial on his phone. “You seem pretty upset after an admission of attraction.”
I narrow my eyes. Hayes can look at me all he wants, but I’m not the one pursuing him. What the hell are you saying? I can’t help but feel defensive about his teasing. And it confuses me even more. It’s a taunt about last night and how I gave in to my attraction for him, but what does it mean? He’s bitter that I’m too chicken to address it? He’s prodding me to face it and own up to it that we had—have?—a thing?
“Leave me alone,” I retort before I stalk off.
I’m not in the mood to play mind games.
After I’m through with cleaning up the storm’s mess, I shower again and head inside my room. Thank goodness the lights flickered back on. Even though we have electricity, I don’t want to leave my room. It’s another episode of hiding, but I don’t care if he calls me out on it. I need a breather from the way he’s constantly getting to me.
The second I flop on the bed, though, I get to myself. Why do I close myself off like this?
Dalton makes me feel happy. For the first time in forever, he makes me feel so alive. Those are good things. I won’t waste my breath denying that I have a thing for him, at least I won’t lie to myself about that. I do. I really like him, and I enjoyed what we shared last night.
But it’s just for fun, right? He’s just as emotionally unavailable as I am. He struggled last night, burdened with the memories of his ex cheating on him. He’s not over that pain or loss, and it’s not fair for him to try something with me—or anyone—when he’s not ready.
Plus, I’ve got no business starting up anything when I’m still a mess. I’m getting better at coping, but underneath it all, I’m still reeling with the sudden shattering of my future. The loss of my job hurts, and I have no right to lead a man into thinking I’m prepared to focus on him when I need to concentrate on fixing my life first.
Besides, where could this go? I’m pragmatic to a fault. Dalton’s life is in New York, whereas right now, mine is so up in the air I don’t know what’s up or down.
I can pinpoint the reason why I guard myself. It’s crystal clear. And it’s always been the same reason why I don’t let many people get close to me. After losing my parents the way I did, I’m jaded and cautious to ever form connections and let love into my life, because in a blink of an eye, they can be taken from me.
The men I’ve slept with have always been flings. One-time things, and so few of them that I can count them on one hand. Dalton is sneaking under my guard though, and if he’s not a fling, I have to consider the chance of letting him matter.
My phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts, and I’m glad for the call. I see that it’s Lauren, and I’m so happy to hear from her. She’s the sister I never had, and I sure need some sisterly comfort—even though I won’t tell her I slept with Dalton. If I can’t face it properly, I shouldn’t be sharing that news.
“Are you all right?” she asks after I answer. “I’m so worried about you.”
I furrow my brow. Because you left me with Dalton?
“Because of the storm,” she finishes.
“Oh.” I yawn. “It wasn’t so bad.”
“Really?”
I nod, knowing she can’t see it. I take comfort in the gesture anyway, wanting to believe it myself. “It’ll be fine.”
Am I talking about the property? Or me? And Dalton?
The man walks by right then. I hadn’t closed my bedroom door, needing to air out the steam from the bathroom. He slows long enough to make eye contact, but I can’t read the emotion behind his gaze. Then he walks away just as suddenly as he appeared.
I chat with Lauren for a while, and when I’ve finally reassured her that the property will be all right with some more cleanup and replanting, we disconnect. My stomach is grumbling, and I almost laugh at the fact that I skipped lunch, so busy with the storm cleanup.
If Marian was here, I would be led to the kitchen like a trained dog for mealtimes. I trudge down there, wondering if the food in the fridge will need to be tossed.
Probably.
I find Dalton there. He’s leaning against the counter, just finished with another PBJ by the looks of it. He turns, flinching a little when he notices me.
“I’m sorry.”
I still, glancing at him before I get a glass for water. “Huh?” That’s the last remark I expected from him.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
I shrug. “What are you sorry for?” Please don’t tell me you wish we never had sex. That would hurt too much.
He doesn’t explain or answer me. Instead, he just walks away, leaving me there to stew on his paltry apology.
His departure stings. Even though I’m the one who’s mired in confusion and conflicted about what’s happening between us, it hurts my heart to consider the chance he regrets ever giving in to me the way we have.